


.:Brain Revolution Man:.

by hybridempress



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Based on a Vocaloid Song, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4142106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hybridempress/pseuds/hybridempress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few days after a terrorist attack on Paris, Francis begins to have strange dreams regarding his old memories, and most of them end with his own death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	.:Brain Revolution Man:.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [【APヘタリアMMD】Brain Revolution Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/121404) by ???. 



_"Your excuses have started  
They've started again"  
Huh?  
This and that, this and that, this and that!  
Are you trying to run away?  
  
Are you looking down on me?  
Is there something missing?  
Hey?  
This is it, this is it, this is it!  
What do you mean by "hidden treasure"?  
  
Ahhh ah ah  
Ah ah  
Ah ah ah ah ah ah  
_ ~*~  
  
    A soft sigh escaped the Frenchman's lips as he closed the double-doors to his rather large art room. His back was pressed to the wood, his hands behind him and holding loosely onto the brass door handles, standing on the heels of his feet. He slid slowly to the floor, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest and his chin resting on top of them. He stared ahead at the stool in front of him.  
  
    He felt sick to his stomach. The subject of the World Meeting today had been rather touchy for him. Most of the other countries were talking about taking precautions and raising the security in important places because of the attack that had happened on Paris only a few days ago. The attack had taken its toll on everyone, but understandably, it had hurt Francis the most, both physically and mentally. It had left him with another scar. A small one at that, but a scar nonetheless.   
  
    He knew the situation needed to be addressed, but he wished he would have had a little more time to grieve. The other countries had shot him sympathetic glances here and there but for the most part, business was business, as usual, and for once, the world seemed to be working together and actually getting something accomplished. That fact scared Francis. The meetings were usually nothing but fun and games and arguing and annoying Ludwig, but not today. Today things were serious, and everyone agreed about that unanimously.  
  
    Francis was able to leave the meeting early by saying that he wasn't feeling well and needed to rest. That was a truth that no one could deny, but as he stood from his seat and walked down the meeting hall, towards the door, he could hear the voices of his fellow countries whispering about his "excuses" and clucking their tongues in disdain.  
  
     _"He can't run away forever,"_  is what Arthur had said.  
  
    Francis squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He crawled on his hands and knees to the middle of the room and collapsed on his side, wrapping his arms around his stomach. Breathing heavily, he opened his eyes slowly and stared at the wall in his viewpoint.   
  
    Leaning against it was one of the paintings that he had been working on recently. It wasn't finished yet, but it was very close. The painting was of a slender cat with grey fur and almost black stripes covering its body. Its eyes were a striking yellow color. He had seen that cat following him around on the day that he had met a girl by the name of Lisa, whom he had believed (and still did believe) to be the reincarnation of a very old friend of his. Most would know her as Joan of Arc.  
  
    Francis sighed softly and shut his eyes again. Bittersweet memories were not what he wanted right now. He didn't want memories of any kind. All he wanted to do was sleep. Eventually, he got his wish, and fell asleep on the cold wooden floor of his art room.  
  
~*~  
_So worthless, that's what you are  
So totally lame  
Huh?  
Oh that is, that is, that is,  
Just a crazy and broken bot  
  
If there's no waste then it's fine  
But it's totally sad  
Right?  
This one? That one? Which one?  
Far too many fantasies _  
~*~  
  
    When Francis awoke, he found that it was not in his art room, but in an alleyway somewhere in the city. He had been awoken by the sound of loud and incessant meowing. Upon opening his eyes, he found that he was face to face with a very familiar looking cat.   
  
    Francis narrowed his eyes and sat up. He shook his head a little, trying to get his bearings, but when he saw the alleyway that he was in, he felt more confused than ever before. It was early in the morning, and it seemed that the sun had only just risen. It had been a few hours before sunset when he had fallen asleep.  
  
     _I must have been drinking last night, and ended up out here... **Oui,**  that explains it..._ he thought to himself, though, he still didn't understand what the cat from his painting was doing there.  
  
    The cat meowed again and scampered a few feet away, only to stop and look at Francis. Francis stood up, figuring that the cat wanted him to follow it, and began to walk towards it. When he walked towards the cat, it began walking farther away. Francis continued to follow it, and eventually, it led Francis out of the alleyway. It was then that he discovered he was not in the city, but rather, he was on the island of Mont St. Michel, and he was in the same spot that he had taken Lisa to when he had met her a few years ago.  
  
    The cat jumped up onto the edge of the low wall in front of them. Though the wall was as built up to Francis' chest, he had no difficulty grabbing onto the ledge with both hands and pulling himself onto it. He sat with his hands grabbing the ledge behind him and his legs dangling off of the edge in front of him. The cat purred softly.   
  
    Francis turned to look at it, and smiled faintly at it. "You know, I'm starting to wonder if this is actually real or not..." he said. "After all, it seems impossible that I could have gotten from my home in Paris all the way here without remembering any of it... I can't even remember taking out a bottle of wine... I fell asleep in my art room, I was too sick to even  _think_  about drinking..."  
  
    The cat let out a soft mewling noise, and Francis laughed. "Look at me, talking to a cat... I must really be losing my mind..."  
  
    He lifted his hand up and pet the top of the cat's head.  
  
    Behind him, he heard footsteps. He didn't pay much mind to them at first, but when they came closer and closer, his curiosity got the better of him, and he turned around to see who it was and what they were doing there. It had been a horrid mistake.  
  
    The first thing he noticed were the absolutely beautiful ocean green eyes. He would have thought that the person was a boy because of how short their blond hair was cut, but taking a look lower than their face, he saw that it was indeed a woman, and more than that. He knew her. That was no ordinary woman. That was Lisa.  
  
    Francis gasped loudly. The sight of Lisa, plus the flash of the camera as she took his picture was shock enough to cause him to lose his balance and fall off of the wall, but not onto the side that he had came from. No, as he fell off the wall he began a quick decent into the ocean below, the water that surrounded the island.   
  
    He screamed as he hit the surface of the water, and was enveloped in its cold, wet grip.  
  
~*~  
_I stitch my eyes shut with a sewing needle  
And I start dreaming that super boring dream  
Ahh!  
  
None of this is really human like  
We hide our true identities   
You're making a big deal out of absolutely nothing  
Mr. No-name  
I can't hear the emotion  
In that voice of yours  
There is not a single hope left  
It all becomes soaked in tears  
This song is overflowing now_  
~*~  
  
    Francis' eyes shot open as he gasped desperately for the air that was lacking from his lungs. His eyes darted around frantically, and he realized with both shock and relief that he was not drowning in the ocean on the coast of Mont St. Michel. He was back in his art room, safe and sound, and he knew for certain now that the whole ordeal had fortunately been just a dream.  
  
    He sat up slowly and groaned. His head hurt worse than ever now. He rubbed the back of his head gently and winced before standing up and walking over to the painting of the cat. Having seen the cat again in his dream, which he could still remember vividly even after waking up, he was able to see the finishing touches that he needed to put on the painting to complete it.   
  
    Francis lifted the painting up and brought it to the easel that was in the center of the room. He propped the canvas up on the easel before going over to his supply drawers and pulling various brushes, different colors of paint and a palette out of them. He brought the supplies back to the easel and sat down on the stool that had been placed in front of it. After picking his starting brush and putting the colors onto the palette, he began painting again.   
  
    Even though there wasn't much to finish, Francis' mind was hazy and his hands were shaking. It seemed like ages before he finally finished the painting. By the time he had finished it, he was exhausted again. It was amazing that he hadn't made any mistakes with his shaky hands, though, he had tried so hard to focus all his energy on getting them to stay still enough for him to paint.   
  
    He put the brush down, sighing, and placed the palette on the floor. He stared at his finished piece for a moment before smiling softly, satisfied with his work. He stood up from his stool and began to walk away from the easel, but he didn't make it very far before his shaking legs couldn't hold his weight anymore, and he slowly knelt to the ground before moving his legs out from under himself, sitting on the floor, and then laying down on it.   
  
    His last sight before falling asleep was the painting of himself and Arthur as children that was hanging on the wall in front of him.  
  
~*~  
_It's such a pity, you know that  
You're still in pain  
Hah  
Today, yesterday, everyday!   
Your life is so worthless  
  
Heavy rain, flash flood warning  
That's how your heart feels  
Right?  
Don't you know, don't you know, don't you know?  
Your mind is playing tricks again_  
~*~  
  
    He woke up to the sound of something whizzing past him, just above his face, and what sounded like an arrow impaling itself in something next him. His eyes shot open, and when he looked up, he saw that there was indeed the shaft of a wooden arrow only a few inches above his face. He was lying next to an old fallen tree, which is what the tip of the arrow had impaled itself into.  
  
    Francis shuffled himself out from under the arrow and sat up, leaning his back against the tree. If the attacker had shot any lower, Francis would have had his nose torn off. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it, and looked around him. He noticed that he was in some sort of forest. Despite that all forests pretty much looked the same, Francis could feel something very familiar about this one, for some reason.  
  
     _I must be dreaming again..._  he thought to himself.  
  
    Just then, he heard the very familiar sound of a laughing child and another, angry child. "Hahaha! I told you you'd miss! I told you you can't catch me, Black Sheep! Just give up already!"   
  
    The voice was that of Francis' younger self, and he could see now, running towards him, the young nation of France accompanied by an even smaller and younger nation, England. Young Francis had a triumphant smile on his face and was still laughing, while baby Arthur was chasing after him, carrying a bow and some arrows, and yelling profanities at the young Frenchman.   
  
    "I'll never give up, you stupid old girly frog! I've been missing you on purpose just to tease you!" Arthur shouted.   
  
    Young Francis cooed softly. "Aww,  _mon cher,_  I think I know what's going on. You really do love me! You're missing me on purpose so that you don't hurt me!" he reasoned.  
  
    "Like  _hell_  I love you, you stupid git! And I'm gonna get you this time! I'm gonna shoot you right in that superficial heart of yours!" Arthur hissed.  
  
    He loaded another arrow into his bow, drawing it back and aiming for young Francis' back. Though the two were running straight towards the fallen tree, neither of them seemed to notice older Francis at all. Young Francis had almost reached the tree. He was running out of room. Arthur would have him cornered soon. But older Francis wasn't worried. This was one of his memories. He knew how it was going to end, and he smirked slightly at the remembrance of how he had escaped from Arthur yet again.  
  
    He watched as younger Francis ran right towards him, holding his arms out with his palms open so that they would hit the tree. Younger Francis' hands went right through older Francis' body, causing older Francis to gasp as a tingling sensation swept over him, and he remembered that this was just a dream of a memory, and he wasn't really there. Younger Francis used his hands against the trunk of the tree as leverage to kick his feet off of the ground, flip himself over the tree, and land on top of it.   
  
    Arthur had already sent his arrow flying by this point, and it had hit the tree only a few seconds after younger Francis had landed himself on top of it. When older Francis saw the arrow whizzing towards him, his eyes widened momentarily in fear. There was no way he could possibly evade it in time. However, his fears went away when he reminded himself that this was only a dream.  
  
    Unfortunately, dreams could still hurt like hell.  
  
    The arrow impaled itself in older Francis' chest. In fact, it went right through him and impaled itself in the tree behind him, making sure that older Francis was stuck to the tree. Still, neither Arthur nor younger Francis even noticed he was there.   
  
    Francis choked and gasped in pain. He looked down to see the shaft of the arrow sticking out of his chest. He could feel it inside of him, going through him. He was bleeding, not too heavily, but it would kill him if he waited too long to do something about it. Though, there wasn't anything that he could do. There was no one around to help him, and he was too weak to try and get the arrow out of the tree without hurting himself even more in the process.   
  
    He could still see Arthur in front of him. He didn't feel like looking up to see younger Francis, but he knew that the other child was still there. "Missed me, missed me, now you have to kiss me!" younger Francis squealed.  
  
    Arthur crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "Damn..." he whispered. He then glared at younger Francis. "No way in hell am I kissing  _you,_  frog breath!" he shouted.  
  
    "Hey, that's not nice! That's not nice at all! You shouldn't say things like that, Arthur! You're so rude!" younger Francis scolded.  
  
    "In case you haven't noticed, Frog, I don't really care what you say. Now help me get over that tree!" he commanded, and rushed towards the tree. He stood just beside older Francis and looked up at younger Francis. That was the last thing that older Francis saw before passing out.  
  
~*~  
_Cover my ears so I can't hear them talking  
I want to throw this sad old life of mine away  
  
It seems I have failed again  
Just like I always do  
I planned every last thing out  
But it was destroyed  
I always raise my expectations  
Up far too high  
I just want to tell the truth  
I want to but I just can't_  
~*~  
  
    When Francis woke up, he found himself in his art room once again. He sat up quickly and looked down at his chest, sighing with relief when he found that there was no arrow stuck inside of him, nor a gaping and bleeding wound. He was just fine. He could barely remember what the pain caused by the arrow had felt like. He had been dreaming, again.   
  
     _ **Mon Dieu...**  What is it with these dreams...?_ he thought to himself.   
  
    He couldn't understand it. He'd used this as his art room ever since he had moved into this house. He'd fallen asleep in here many times, working on a painting until he literally couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. He'd never had dreams like these before, especially not dreams where he kept dying...   
  
    He noticed that his hands were shaking again. His breathing was heavy. He was scared, but why? It's not like these dreams meant anything, right...? He wasn't going to die. He was a country. He couldn't die, right? Even so, he had a terrible feeling... Though, he began to wonder if it had anything to do with the paintings.   
  
     _I've got to take them all down..._  he thought.  _I've got to make sure I can't see them anymore. If I fall asleep without looking at a painting, and I still have these dreams, then it has to be a sign. But I shouldn't worry until I know for sure..._  
  
    He stood up quickly. With shaking legs, he walked towards the painting of himself and Arthur, the one he had seen before falling asleep. He lifted it off of the wall gently and laid it face down on the floor so that he couldn't see the picture anymore. Quickly, he went around the room and did the same thing with the other paintings until they all lay in neat stacks, face down on top of each other so that he could no longer see the images that they contained.  
  
    Once he had finished, he walked slowly back to the center of the room and laid down on the floor. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. His stomach was churning already. He was honestly afraid to fall asleep now, because who knew what he would dream of next? It seemed like ages before he was finally able to get to sleep, and when he did, he found that putting the paintings down made no difference. He still had the dreams, and they were coming on stronger than before.  
  
    He had two more dreams before he was able to wake up again. In the first dream, he thought he saw Lisa again. However, it was not Lisa, but rather, her former incarnation. It was Joan of Arc.   
  
    Francis almost cried when he saw her again. She was just as beautiful as he had always remembered her. He would never forget her, for he had loved her dearly, and he would never forget what she had done for him. He saw her, standing in the field, watching her soldiers as they trained themselves for the battle that would soon be upon them. She was dressed in her shining armor. Her ocean green eyes glittered with pride, and with determination.   
  
    As Francis sat in the grass and stared at her, he noticed someone coming up behind her. Upon taking a good look at the person, he noticed that, once again, it was his younger self. His younger self was much older now, an adult, wearing armor just like Joan and having his long hair tied back in a ponytail with a blue ribbon. As he stood behind Joan, he covered her eyes with his hands, smiling.  
  
    "Guess who..." he whispered to her.   
  
    Joan removed his hands from her eyes and turned to look at him. She smiled when she saw him " _Monsieur France!_ " She curtsied a little for him.  
  
    The younger Francis chuckled softly. " _Non,_  I told you, don't use formalities with me. My name is Francois. We're friends, alright? There's no need for you to treat me as anything else," he told her.  
  
    Joan blushed softly and nodded, smiling a little wider. "Right, right.  _Je suis désolé,_  Francois," she said.  
  
    The younger Francis looked out onto the field and smiled proudly, though sympathetically, at the men who were training there. He then looked fondly at Joan. He took her hand in his own. "I see that you are leading them well. I am sure that they will win this fight," he told her.  
  
    Joan nodded. "I am, too," she replied.  
  
    "Then let's take a break. Come on, I've prepared a picnic for you not far from here. It'll be alright to step away from them for just a little while," he urged.  
  
    Joan laughed softly. "Oh, alright. Come on, let's go."  
  
    The two of them began walking towards older Francis. By the time he had finished watching the scene, he was in tears. He was so jealous of his younger self. He wanted nothing more than to be able to speak with Joan again, to hold her hand, to tell her how proud he was of her and how sorry he was that he couldn't save her the way that she had saved him. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, and as Joan walked straight through him, he disappeared.  
  
    When he opened his eyes again, he felt heavy, like he was sinking. It was cold all around him, and dark, and blue. He realized that he was submerged in water, though, somehow, he could still breathe, albeit with a lot of difficulty. He stared up towards the surface of the water. There was a small light at the top, through which he could see the edge of a bridge, and two people standing behind it.  
  
    The people in question were yet another younger version of himself and one of the other nations. America, to be exact. Though, Francis preferred to use first names with everyone, so he would call America Alfred. Francis recognized this scene. It was the memory of the day that the people of New York had completed construction of the Statue of Liberty, a gift from Francis to Alfred in honor of his 100th birthday. It had taken 11 years to complete, but both Alfred and Francis agreed that it had been well worth it.  
  
    Older Francis watched as Alfred and his younger self conversed with each other, laughing and smiling at each other. The two of them definitely weren't as close with each other as they used to be. Then again, the entire world seemed to be at odds with each other. It made Francis' heart ache for a time when there could be peace again. The meetings lately had been so tense. Everyone knew that they were on the verge of another devastating World War, and were doing everything they could think of to prevent it from happening, but unfortunately, there wasn't much that the Nations themselves could do. It was all up to their bosses, and their people.  
  
    Francis couldn't cry because he was already in the water. Though, something felt strange to him about the liquid surrounding him. It was steadily becoming warmer and warmer, until it was almost burning his skin. It was becoming increasingly harder for him to breathe. The air around him (or lack of) seemed thick. Something wasn't right, but he had no time to figure it out before he found himself slipping out of consciousness once again.  
  
~*~  
_I'm not human like at all  
I'm going to stop my breath  
No one will ever know my ideas  
I'm Mr. No-Name  
I can't hear the emotion  
In that voice of yours  
There is not a single hope left  
It all becomes soaked in tears  
This song is overflowing now_  
~*~  
  
    When Francis woke up, he was back in his art room once again, but something wasn't right. He could still feel the searing heat that he had felt in the water from his dream, and the air was just as thick. It was hard for him to breathe. His eyes were still a little blurry, but he could see an orange glow covering the room.  
  
    Francis sat bolt upright, and his eyes widened as he saw that, somehow, the art room had caught on fire. It started in the back of the room but was quickly enveloping everything in sight. All of his precious paintings that he had worked so hard on were being burnt to ash.   
  
    The flames were quickly enveloping the door, and there was no way that Francis could get out through the window in the back of the room. There was too much fire there. Through the door was his only way.   
  
    He stood up and ran towards the door quickly. However, when he grabbed the door handle and tried to open the door, it wouldn't budge, and the brass was getting too hot for Francis to hold onto and try to force it open. Inside, he began to panic a little. He didn't know how he was going to get out before the fire burned the entire room down. He began looking around frantically for some way to get out, though his hope was quickly fading.   
  
    Finally, he spotted an ax on top of some crates not too far from the doors. He'd been looking at the ax and using it as a reference so that he could paint the weapon that his friend Antonio so often used in battle. He thanked God that he hadn't removed it from the room yet. He quickly snatched it up from the crates, despite how heavy it was, and stood in front of the door. With a determined look on his face, he began hacking at the wood until one of the doors had been destroyed and he could get out.   
  
    He dropped the ax and ran out of the room as fast as his legs would allow. Once he was out of the room, he began running down the hallway, down the stairs and out of the house. All the while, he pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and called the fire department.   
  
    When he was finally outside, and had successfully called the fire department, all he could do was stand outside and wait, watching as his house almost burned to the ground.   
  
~*~  
_"Your excuses have started  
They've started again"  
Huh?  
This and that, this and that, this and that!  
You can't really prove me wrong_  
~*~  
  
    It had been three days since the fire. Francis' house was currently being repaired, and he was staying in a hotel near the Eiffel Tower. Many of his things had been destroyed, including all of his paintings. The only thing from the art room that the firemen were able to salvage was one of Francis' more recent paintings; the one he'd done in honor of the attack that had happened last week. It was severely damaged, burned almost beyond recognition, but at least it was something...  
  
    At the moment, Francis was walking through the hall of the building where they were holding the World Meeting today. He stood outside of the door to the meeting room and took a deep breath before pushing it open. Everyone in the room had been talking to each other in low and serious tones. Francis had never seen them like this before. Ludwig was the first one to notice that he had entered the room. When his head turned towards Francis', everyone else's did as well.  
  
    "Everyone, look, Papa's here!" Matthew exclaimed, his tone of voice sounding extremely relieved.   
  
    Arthur was the first one to stand up. He walked towards Francis brusquely and slapped him on the back of his head. "You idiot! You've had all of us worried absolutely sick! You haven't been to the meeting in three days, you haven't been answering  _anyone's_  phone calls, and we've all heard about how your house almost burned to the ground! Where the hell have you been!?" he demanded.   
  
    Francis shrugged Arthur's slap off, only flinching a little, and went to sit between Antonio and Matthew, who were waiting for him eagerly. "Yeah, what's going on,  _amigo...?_ " Antonio asked worriedly.  
  
    Francis shrugged again. "Oh, it's nothing... The firemen said that it was a gas leak that caused the fire, or something like that. And I haven't answered anyone's phone calls because my cellphone was destroyed in the fire... Sorry..." he explained.  
  
    The first statement was true. The firemen had told him that it was a gas leak that had caused the fire, though, Francis didn't believe them for a second. The second statement, however, was false. He'd obviously had his cellphone with him when he was outside of the house. He'd turned it off after the firemen arrived because he didn't feel like talking to anyone, and that's why he hadn't been answering the calls.  
  
    "Papa... You could have at least told us where you were, or something... We all thought you had died or been kidnapped or something like that..." Matthew muttered.  
  
    Francis leaned over and kissed his forehead. " _Je suis désolé, mon Lis._ " He looked at the other nations. "I'm sorry, everyone. I just needed some space," he told them.   
  
    "Right, well, let's get back to the meeting..." Arthur said, having sat down again.  
  
    "Right..." Ludwig agreed, and got back to the topic that they had been discussing earlier.   
  
    Francis only listened half-heartedly. In all honesty, he didn't want to be there. He only came so that he could show everyone that he was still alive. Barely. He had far too much on his mind and didn't know what to do about it.   
  
    Something started that fire, and it wasn't a gas leak. Francis was sure of that. He was also sure that his terrible, bittersweet dreams weren't going anywhere anytime soon. He still didn't know what they meant, and he doubt he would figure it out in the near future.   
  
    Francis didn't want to worry or bother anyone else with his troubles. He'd keep them to himself, even though they were driving him crazy. He was going insane, but he didn't mind. Everyone goes insane sooner or later... Right?  
  
~*~  
_I've just about given up now  
There's no tomorrow  
Right?  
Nothing left, nothing left, nothing left!  
What do you mean by "hidden treasure"?_  
~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys O: It's been a while since I've uploaded anything, hasn't it? Sorry for the wait. I've been hella busy lately and I've just recently gotten back into a writing mood. Anyways, this fic is pretty old, actually. I wrote this a long while ago, actually before any of the attacks on Paris in the past year but never uploaded it because I was shaken up by how I had written a fic about this sort of thing and then it ended up happening a few weeks later. I figured it'd be okay to upload it now, though, and that it would tide you guys over until I could update Forelsket, though. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this fic!
> 
> Also, the English lyrics for this song were written by me! You could use them in something else if you ever wanted to, but please credit me and link me to it!!


End file.
